


The Pages We Turn

by 500daysofmoose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/500daysofmoose/pseuds/500daysofmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel Novak is a firefighter for the Kansas State Fire Department. Sam Winchester is the best-selling author of The Morningstar Chronicles. When Sam spends more time hanging around with his brother at the station, he becomes fond of a certain golden eyed trickster. Pranks, romance, friendship, and confusion ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gabriel Novak tapped his pack of cigarettes to his knee out of habit. His hazel eyes scanned the area behind the building as he pulled one out, sticking the filter between his lips. It hung there a moment before he finally lit it, drawing in the flavors onto his tongue.

The flame of the lighter illuminated his boyish face in the darkness of the evening. Gabriel inhaled again before he puffed out the smoke. His nerves seemed to settle from their rattling, twitching state. He drew again and sighed as the smoke floated into the crisp September air.

For five years Gabriel had been a valued - though some would argue annoying - member of the Kansas State Fire Department. In those years of hundreds of accidents and fires, Gabe still took deaths the hardest. It was supposed to be a small fire, just a grill on the patio the owners couldn’t handle.

The crew never expected to arrive to the charred remains of a home caused by the fire licking too close to the propane tanks. He nudged a rock with his smoke stained work boot and flicked the ashes from his cigarette, words from the Chief still fresh in his mind. Three small children and their parents had died that night.

Hazel eyes closed and he sucked the rest of the stick down, squashing it beneath his shoe with finality and more aggression than he would let himself admit. Gabe moved to open the back door when it flew open.

“Yo, Novak, Chief wanted-” Ash Harvelle’s words died out as he took in Gabriel’s rough composure. “You alright, compadre?”

Gabriel gave a jerky nod, pushing past the other man. He walked halfway down the hallway before turning back, an apologetic look on his face. Before he could open his mouth, Ash nodded and held his hands up. “No problemo, Gabriel.” He smiled and gave a thumbs up to his disheveled friend.

Gabe dodged dirty laundry and weaved around the other men until he came to his locker. He hastily tugged his coat and scarf on, taking no time to check if he had everything he needed. The clash of his locker closing echoed through the room. With a sigh, the hazel eyed man leaned his body against the cool metal, hands deep in his hair and lips open to allow long breaths to escape.

“Been a rough day.” Dean Winchester squeezed Gabe’s shoulder. He turned the shorter man around gently and embraced him, the smell of stale cigarettes and the expensive cologne he used invading Dean’s nose.

“You can’t save everyone.” He said quietly.

“I can try,” Gabriel mumbled.

Dean’s full body laugh rocked them both and he let his friend free from his hold. “Chief said to go home and rest. You’re off tomorrow so we better not see you here. Got it, Novak?”

Gabriel snorted and rolled his but nodded nonetheless. A day to wallow in rocky road ice cream and 80s movies is exactly what he needed. “Night, Dean.” Gabe called behind his shoulder as he left the room.

He nodded towards the Chief, an older man by them name of Gordon who was as stout as a brick house but took in the firefighters like his own kin. The walk to his apartment helped to clear his mind and when he arrived to the tall building Gabriel felt lighter if anything.

He fumbled in his jacket pockets during the trek up to the third floor, brows furrowed in frustration when he found them empty. He patted the pockets of his jeans and groaned when he found them to be empty. Pulling up his sleeve, he checked his watch. It was a little before eleven and he was damned if he would make the trip back to the station. Gabriel chewed on his lip as he leaned against his apartment door.

Rattling of locks from the door across the hall brought him from his thinking daze and he raised his eyes to see Ms. Tran with a smirk on her first.

“Forgot your keys again?” Her eagle eyes were sharp on him, but didn’t lack the humor he assumed they would. He nodded sheepishly and she disappeared a moment before returning with a shining key.

“Good thing you gave me a spare.” Gabriel unlocked his door and handed the key back, thanking her again for her help. As the door closed and the locks were set in place, he began tugging off his layers of clothing. He dropped onto his bed in exhaustion and willed the horrors of the day away from his dreams.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

The heat smothered him. Flames kissed his skin and ate away at his surroundings. He screamed and screamed, the roaring of the fire seeming to drown him out. A cold touch and a whispering of his name became his rescue. Sam Winchester startled awake, his breath heavy and harsh. Hands grabbed hold of his shoulders but he flailed and opened his mouth to scream. A mouth covered it and evergreen eyes full of worry and sleepiness looked into his own.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice was soft and he withdrew his hand, settling it instead on Sam’s other shoulder. “Just a dream, Sam. Just a dream.”

The younger Winchester shuddered as he worked to remove himself from the phantom burning. “‘Dunno what triggered it.” Was that his voice? It sounded ragged and harsh.

“You’ve been focused on that damn book too much. When was the last time you slept?” Dean scolded

“Ruby is hounding me to finish it so she can have it out by next Spring.”

“I don’t care what that she-devil wants. You’re taking a break.” Dean rose from where he was kneeling and shuffled out of Sam’s room mumbling about everyone around him having mental breakdowns.

Sam flopped back down and ran his hands over his face. Maybe he did need a break. He had written two best-sellers in a short amount of time and his publisher was pushing him to finish the third in the series. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Writing used to be a joy for him, and now it only seemed like a chore. As a final thought before his eyes drooped, he promise himself a full weekend of laziness.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Dean’s stomping and crashing woke Sam up hours later. Groggy and stiff, the younger Winchester padded slowly into the kitchen.

“The hell are you doing in here, Dean?”

“Mornin’, Sammy!” Dean’s cheery voice boomed throughout the kitchen. He turned and sat a plate of banana and peanut butter pancakes in front of his brother along with a cup of coffee.

Sam smirked and said, “You haven’t made these for me since I graduated college.”

Dean shrugged and began whistling - an old rock song Sam assumed - as he scrubbed dishes. As he dug into his food, he noticed his brother was fully dressed but didn’t have to be at work until later. “Got a hot date?”

The older brother snickered. “Not if you see a date as taking a whiny twenty-eight year old out to a ball game so he doesn’t sit at home with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “Bring me back a pretzel?” Sam asked around a mouthful of pancakes.

“Don’t I always?”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * 

“But, Dean,” Gabriel had Oreo crumbs on his shirt and empty beer bottles everywhere. “I’m being antisocial. Why can’t I have this one moment of post-teenage over dramatics?”

“One moment?” Dean asked incredulously.

Gabe huffed and pushed past his friend to the messy bedroom. Dean cleaned up as he waited, cursing Novak with every empty bottle and package of mini muffins.

“I’m ready, asshole.” Gabriel pouted and grabbed his wallet and keys, securing them in his pockets.

“Lose the attitude, princess, we’re going to get fried foods and ice cream.” Dean smirked at Gabriel’s yell of excitement, praying to whatever God was out there that his friend wouldn’t be a handful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire is beauty and pain.

There is nothing that can be said to a young boy that watches the house he grew up in, had birthday parties in, has his first kiss with the neighbor at age seven in the kitchen, burn to the ground in a display of stolen oxygen and rising flames the color of the sunset after a storm.

Sam was five when his parents were killed in the fire, just barely old enough to start school that following fall. He remembers the unyielding flow of tears from his eyes, not even stopping for Dean’s pleads that he be okay.

He remembers Uncle Bobby’s gruff hands on his shoulder in comfort and Aunt Ellen’s fierce, motherly whisper of promises. But above all Sam remembers the helplessness and guilt that wrecked him, caged him, ate at him. And almost twenty-five years later, he holds those feelings in the pit of his stomach.

Goosebumps rose over his body before his brain registered the breeze floating through the window and billowing the curtains towards him as if they were mocking a beckoning lover. He crossed the room and shut the window, clasping it shut and drawing the shade. All he wanted, _needed_ , was a long sleep and for the feelings that kept him up most nights to numb.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

Fire is terrifying and beautiful in a classic way that is taken lightly by some and for granted by others. The heat from a flame can give life when the temperatures drop but the slick flames will engulf a soul when given the opportunity.

Gabriel was asked once by a child during a presentation at the local school why he has decided to become a firefighter. He thought it over and over, letting the taste of the question rest on his tongue and bounce around in his mind. Gabe recited the cliche “to fight fires” which seemed to appease the child, yet months later he still pondered that question.

Was it the vibrant colors that painted a night sky and the faces of the grieving owners? Or the empty hole inside of him that held the blood of his “heroics” and begged for more? No, that wasn’t it. Gabriel could be selfish, yes, but saving lives had nothing to do with that. There were the lucky ones, and the not so lucky ones, but he never took credit for the bodies - dead and alive - that he carried from burning buildings.

Gabriel scrubbed a hand over his face and felt the prickles of his beard bring him back from his thoughts to the unnaturally quiet lounge of the building. The station was a beautiful building of high arches and added flairs of each member.

The men and women of the station were proud to call it their second home, especially Gabriel. In the thirty-three years of his existence, the man had experienced the hell (how ironic) of a religious family that held more intolerant members than any group Gabe could think of off the top of his head. His older brothers bathed in the attention of being the perfect children as well as perfect members of the church.

Gabriel believed in God; he had seen it in the eyes of children he rescued from the fire and in the eyes of the parents he handed them over to. He had seen it in the smile of his brother after he came to terms with his sexuality and accepted life to the fullest.

But in all the holy crap they fed him growing up, Gabriel had never found God. He secretly collected money from a job he had at a candy store and the weekly allowances his parents gave until he had nearly five thousand dollars. On the night of his eighteenth birthday, Gabriel hastily packed suitcases, made a promise to his brother that he would return for him, and drove off in a mess of screeching tires and his mother’s curses.

The money lasted almost a year before Gabriel became bored and, unfortunately, had to pursue a career. With a degree in Art, he assumed finding a job would be a pleasant experience until he found that Kansas City was known for three things: their fire department, the mechanics, and their pie.

And of course, Gabriel being one for quirky adventures, settled for being a waiter at Eve’s diner. It was there he met Dean Winchester and the two became inseparable from there. It was Dean who finally convinced Gabriel to join the fire department with him and the rest is history.

“The last time I saw you this focused, I had to call Chief to run a drug test on your happy ass,” Dean said from the doorway. Gabe could hear the smirk in his voice without turning around to see it.

“I remember that. I still owe you for that. Might get it by hitting on that innocent baby brother of yours.” Gabriel retorted. He had never met Dean’s brother, only heard stories about the big time author through the proud voices of the family. He might have, quite possibly, read Sam’s books on top of searching his name on the Internet. The only pictures Gabe had seen of him were the younger ones that decorated Ellen and Bobby’s home.

A loud snort had him raising his brow in amusement.

“If you can get Sammy to come out of his lair long enough for a few hours of human interaction, I would kiss the ground you walk on.” Dean shrugged and plopped down beside his friend, legs stretching out in front of him. “Dude, I’m not joking when I say the kid has been holed up in his room for three days now. Says he’s fine and all that bull.”

“Why don’t you bring him by the station? He might be having writer’s block and in need for a little _inspiration_ ,” Gabe finished the sentence with a - what he deemed - a seductive tone.

Dean’s face was thoughtful a moment before he nodded his head, a bright smile stretching and warming his face. Gabriel knew that if circumstances were different and they weren’t better as friends, he would “put the moves” on Dean.

“Great idea, Gabe. I knew you weren’t a total loss.” A rough hand squeezed the man’s leg affectionately before Dean raced off to..do whatever the hell Dean Winchester does in his free time. _Well gee, Winchester,_ Gabriel thought, _thanks._

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~   
_  
They stood facing each other with fists clenched and a pregnant silence, only feet apart but it felt like miles to the two lost brothers. There was no time to turn back, no measure of time at all between them. This was it. It was the final battle to end the war that had plagued their existence from the minute the Morningstar fell from his pearly throne of Heaven. Glowing and burning, twisting and fighting. It was a blur of sorrow and history. No longer could they hold off in hopes that-_

“Dammit, Sam, I thought I told you no writing today.” Dean’s annoyed voice called from behind Sam. He was typing away with fervor as he always did when inspiration struck.

“But, Dean,” The younger brother began, only to be cut off by Dean’s scoff.

“You sound just like this guy at work. Off the computer, Sammy, and I mean it.” Dean rolled up the sleeves of his white work shirt and sent his brother a look before walking out of the room.

Huffing, Sam clicked the save button and shut his computer with a soft click. Lean fingers, strong from his earlier years of working on cars with his brother and helping his Aunt Ellen build her bar, were tapping his desk idly in a broken rhythm.

“Get dressed,” Dean reappeared and said before leaving yet again.

“For what? You’re the one yellin’ at me to relax.”

“You, Sammy, are going to work with me today,” The older Winchester’s voice carried into Sam’s room and he let his head fall backwards and a scowl take over his face.

“Why would I want to go hang out at a fire station? Wouldn’t I just be in the way?”

“Nah. It feels like a calm one.” Dean said as he shrugged. With a final groan, Sam dragged himself on unwilling limbs to his closet. It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll cuties enjoyed this second chapter of the fic. School just started back and I'm only taking a certain number of credit hours so I'll be able to focus a bit more time on this. xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen for a reason, or however the hell Fate wants them to.

**Guilt.**

It whispered around Sam with colorful language and violent growls. It howled deep and low and sent shivers down his spine in ways he had never experienced with anything else. The guilt was rooted deep within him, its branches taunt around his bones and wood strong against anything. It woke him up in cold sweats and dragged him out of bed when the remnants were too much to handle. Wounds from childhood, from the time of candied summers with his older brother, were clear against his skin. The proverbial stitching he wore on his body was poorly done and stretching across his ever-growing self-hatred. It had been years since his parent's death, since  _their_  parents death, but the roaring and twisting of the fire was burned into his mind.

And Dean, his faithful brother who never once pointed a finger to Sam, never once cursed or blamed him, had no idea the depth of what he felt. Sam locked it away and drowned it with hard liquor or lost it within the pages e wrote. Yet, as always, it came back with a vengeance.

It was almost poetic that Dean was a firefighter; though, Sam assumed it was because of their parents death that sealed his fate to begin with. He looked over at his brother in the driver's seat, thumbs bouncing against the wheel to the beat of the radio, mind drifting as his eyes were painted to the road, and wondered how Dean felt when the heat pounced on his unscathed flesh as if it were a feral animal. Did it hurt? Bring back the instinctual fear and hot press of tears? They never talked about, haven't since they were kids and their Uncle Bobby made them. It was better this way.

"You alright, Sammy?" Dean asked, eyes off the road for a second but fingers still dancing along to the music.

"M'fine." He replied. Short and simple wasn't too suspicious, right?

An eye roll later, Dean said, "If this is going to be rough for you then don't worry about it. There's a shop down the street from the station that serves those fru-fru coffees you like."

"A white chocolate mocha is not 'fru-fru', Dean," Sam scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah, princess. Whatever you say." The nickname earned Dean a punch to the arm and a smile that split across Sam's face.

The car smoothed into the back parking area, rocking gently against the rough pavement before parking next to a beat up maroon truck.

As Sam stepped out of the car, he noticed the truck had fuzzy dice hanging around the rear-view mirror. He snorted and turned to Dean. "Who does the truck belong to?"

"Take a wild guess."

Sam thought a moment before saying without any doubt, "Ash."

The brothers shared a laugh but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of the alarm ringing.

"Dammit." Dean cursed underneath his breath. He sent Sam an apologetic look, tossing the keys towards his brother before jogging towards the station. Sam caught them in a practiced sweep and called out a "be careful" to Dean's rapidly retreating back. He settled into the driver's seat, long legs adjusting to the difference. The engine purred to life and he grinned with pride. Sam drove quickly out of the parking lot with no aim but a free day ahead of him.

* * *

In Gabriel's opinion, the fire isn't the most destructive part. It's the aftermath; the burnt wedding photos or bodies of children with bright futures. The charred walls where pictures used to hang or stuffed animals meshed and melted together. He can fight a fire, does so six out of seven days, but those hours afterward dig into him.

This particular fire held no real danger, but then again he could be a bit cocky about it. Another idiot with a deep fryer playing professional chef, Gabriel thought as he helped hoist the hose up. The damage was minimal and no one was hurt. He relished in these kinds of fires. Don't get him wrong, all fires are bad, but at least there wasn't the stretch of burning corpse in the air.

"Took my girl on a date last night," The new kid said as he stood to the side, surveying the others. Gabriel tried to remember his name. Greg...George...Garth! His name was Garth. One of the youngest on the team, second to Adam Milligan.

"Didn't know you had it in you," Ash Harvelle grinned wickedly at the younger man's reddening face.

"Leave him alone, Ash," Dean slapped his friend's arm harmlessly. "Kid got lucky and wants to gloat. I remember when Gabri _elle_ over here did the same thing."

"And I'll do it again when I score with your brother." He shot back, nothing but sass and humor tainting his voice.

"You're a piss ant, Gabe." Dean retorted.

"Caveman."

"Stop talking about yourself, man. Have some self respect." Ash whistled at Dean's reply.

Gabriel opened his mouth to say something but the Chief interrupted.

"I didn't realize we had first graders among us." Gordon's arms were crossed over his chest, eyebrow rose in challenge.

"No, sir," they said in unison. Gordon merely smiled and shook his head, turning to Garth and saying, "Idiots, I tell you."

"Last one to the truck buys the first round of drinks!" Dean exclaimed and shot past them with a peel of laughter.

* * *

Sam scratched the hair under his navel, a yawn stretching his lips and watering his eyes. He padded into the living room and sent a wary glance to the haphazardly thrown boots and pants across the floor. Dean's body jolted away from his position on the couch and started blearily up at his brother.

"Wha time is it?" The end of the sentence was muffled by his face hitting the pillow.

"Ten thirty." Sam's voice was amused. He walked over and nudged at Dean's side with his foot, lips turned upwards. "Dude, how many drinks did you have last night?"

"'Dunno," he mumbled and groaned. "Gettin' too old for this, Sammy."

"How about I make you a nice, greasy breakfast?" Sam smirked and tugged Dean over until he fell off the couch with a  _thud_.

* * *

Later that day, after he was forgiven with the promise of buying a pie, Sam decided to walk to the bakery near their apartment. The sky was clear and the evening sky was a canvas of purples and blues, mixing and darkening as the sun lowered. His old flames would tell him how "poetic" he was when it came to describing the world around him, but Sam never thought of it as such. He merely appreciated.

The shop was buzzing with warm energy from its patrons and the sweet aroma of the merchandise. Sam eyed the racks of pies, all set in rows of different flavors and sizes.

"Is pie your favorite?" A voice asked from behind him. Sam turned and looked at the voice's owner, a man shorter than himself with a messy mop of dark hair the color of and eyes that battled between burnt honey and evergreen. He stared for a moment before answering. "Uh, yeah. No, no. Actually, it's for my brother," Sam cleared his throat in embarrassment. The man laughed and nodded. "I'm more of a cake guy, myself." He gestured to the small white bakery box in his hands.

"I like cheesecake. My Uncle makes the best in the state." Sam said and turned his attention back to the pies.

"I wouldn't doubt it. I'm Gabriel, by the way." The man extended his hand.

Sam took it and grinned, mentally taking in the soft palm in contrast with a few rough patches and scars. "Nice to meet you, Gabriel. I'm Sam."

"Likewise, Samwise," Gabe answered with a cocky grin.

Sam's eyebrows gathered. "Did you just refer to me as a Lord of the Rings character?" He asked incredulously.

The shorter man's laughter was silky and full of life. "You bet I did. I'll be seeing you. Don't take any long journeys into Mordor." Gabriel winked and sent a wave, exiting the store and taking most of that electricity with him.

When he realized his mouth was still hanging open, Sam quickly composed himself and grabbed a cherry pie. He hoped his face wasn't as red as the dessert.

* * *

"Finally, Gabe!" Ash and a few others nearly attacked him as soon as the door opened. "We thought we were gonna have to started this party without you."

Gabriel snorted and placed the bakery box on the table, reaching across to muss Adam's hair. "Had to pick up birthday boy's cake and got a little distracted."

A collective voice of gasp and "oohs" filled the room and Gabe rolled his eyes. "It's nothing like that, you idiots. Guy was totally out of my league anyway."

Adam patted his friend on the shoulder and smiled. "Don't think like that, man."

"Enough touchy-feely moments, I want cake!" Someone - probably the Chief's fiery daughter Cassie - said and everyone laughed, joining in to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Adam.

He flew out the candles once, then twice, frustrated that they kept lighting up again. Gabriel couldn't hold it in any longer and nearly fell over with sobs of laughter.

"The trickster strikes again," Gordon mumbled.

* * *

"Sam, I sent you for pie, not to make googly eyes at strangers," Dean said over a mouthful of cherries and crust. It was love at first sight when Sam came in with the box.

"I wasn't making 'googly eyes'," Sam scoffed. "I was...being nice."

Dean mumbled something but his brother chose to ignore him. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I probably won't see him again."

"Never know, might be fate," The last word was pitched into a mocking, Disney-like tone.

The younger Winchester's voice was quiet and his eyes soft. "When has fate ever been that kind to us?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay! I was unhappy with the previous "chapter three" I had written because I hadn't found a direction but recently I had a stroke of inspiration and here we go! Hope you enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little something I've been thinking over for awhile now. I hope you all enjoy the fic and though I do have classes, I will try to keep this updated every week or every other week. xoxoxo


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